


Faded For Him

by Nevermourn



Series: White Wolf Rising [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole watches your wet dreams, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Self-Harm, after Crestwood, say hi to feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermourn/pseuds/Nevermourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Solas leaves her alone in Crestwood, the Inquisitor has to find a way to recover from her grief. Luckily, her companions are there to soothe the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER SELF HARM WARNING.

The night was darker than it had been earlier; though the moon had not been given time to shift across the sky. Its light had merely paled in glittering eyes clouded with salty droplets, disorienting mist crawling across her vision. Within her mind, tangled thoughts writhed with confusion and despair as she desperately attempted to fathom what had just gone so terribly wrong, probing at her consciousness to insure that she was not simply enveloped within some cruel nightmare. Fingers reached over her abdomen to curl around the other arm, nails grinding into the flesh there as she drew them across the limb. She needed to feel something, she needed an outlet, as if the dark crimson that oozed from thin scratches was the very essence of her suffering, and she meant to purge it from her body lest she explode from the pressure of her internal agony. 

The elven mage forced herself to breathe, focused on the sound that wisped between her lips, a whimper, barely audible, shattering the muted silence that had fallen over the ancient clearing. All the sudden, it all crashed into her once more with renewed force, her flabbergasted numbness fading into a feeling of hopeless torture as if she had finally understood the extent of what had just happened. The sound of water lapping at the soil near her feet, the chorus of crickets that sang into the night, the whisper of a breeze brushing past the skin of her bare face, all ambiances that typically brought serenity now thrusting her to her knees with some overstimulated panic. A wail burst from her open mouth, but she hardly noticed when it blended into the rest of the colorless world. 

Solas had become her life, her drive, her hope. He had been her first and only true love, in which she would willingly place herself between him and death if such a sacrifice ever needed to be made. He had become the light at the end of the tunnel, her second chance after Corypheus, after the Inquisition. He had comforted her, brought her the strength and will she had so desperately needed in order to face such a demoralizing foe, gifted her with knowledge and wisdom she would have never known otherwise. Most importantly, he had been her vhenan, her heart. And he had just walked away, abandoned her with the wind, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel that arched before her quivering frame. With no explanation, her heart had been torn from her chest. How could she ever hope to survive without it? 

She had nowhere to go. Her clan had expelled her into the wilderness in favor of another, more talented mage, and she had no hope of finding another to call home. She had given up everything that she once was or could have been to be with him. Her face had been cleansed of the Vallaslin that once marked her as a proud Dalish, and without it, her own kind were likelier to spit in her face than accept her within their ranks. It had hurt her, when Solas explained the origins of the blood writing, but that had not been why she gave it up, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had known that, when he pushed her away. 

When he had brought her to Crestwood, she could have never predicted what had just happened. She had suspected that he would explain more about who he was to her. After she had discovered he was Elvhen during their battle to keep the vir'abelasan (the well of sorrows) out of the hands of Corypheus, she had only faltered a moment, before determining that their romance would remain ageless, and that she did not care that Solas was immortal. After Abelas had exposed her lover, she had only dwelled upon his true identity for a brief few minutes, and had resigned herself not to ask. She believed Solas would explain everything within his own time, and she had truly expected Crestwood to be that time. She had never been so wrong before. She thought it was her fault. How could it not be? His love for her had always seemed so genuine that it was hard to comprehend that anything else might have gone wrong. What had he seen that was so undesirable when she had faced him, barefaced, just minutes earlier? The small elf turned away from the cave, staring into the water. Her own lack of recognition toward the reflection of her face within the pool stabbed her like a poisoned dagger. Her own image was no longer someone she knew, or wanted to know, for that person in the rippling pond was lost and forgotten, cast away like trash. 

Perhaps if she carved the lines back into her face, he would accept her once more? The thought was only momentary, but had been driven into her thoughts like a nail, a sudden, fleeting hope driving her hands to move, to grasp at the small skinning knife she hid within her boot. Pulling it from the sheathe, she knew the idea was foolish, running the blade through her fingers to watch its surface gleam as the moonlight struck the steel metal. But the sharpness of the weapon called to her, an alluring song that she could not deny. If it was not to be for him, then it would be for her, some amount of closure, and the prayer that she would be able to recognize herself again, that she wouldn’t look into a mirror and find a stranger, even if the scars were jagged. 

Staring at the image that the water produced of her supposed face, she pressed the knife to her forehead and winced with some mixture of pain and satisfaction, as if the physical suffering drew away her focus from the ache in her chest, where her heart was meant to be. Her breath fell into a hypnotic rhythm, then, as her fingers maneuvered steel through tender flesh, tears stinging at fresh wounds that spilled crimson across her features, dripping into the water below. The time that passed was hardly acknowledged, and after what might have been an hour of stiff and clumsy strokes, she lowered the knife to regard her stained reflection with spiteful consideration. 

The lines were rough and uneven, nothing compared to the grace and discipline that had been etched into her skin by her keeper, but at least the elf she saw within the pool was more familiar. A few quiet moments passed, before she rolled from her knees and onto her side, tucking herself into the fetal position as a maddening giggle exploded from her jaws. She was sobbing and laughing and clutching herself with some hellish torment unleashed within her mind, until finally, the darkness penetrated her thoughts, and sleep wrapped her within a merciful embrace. Unusually, she did not dream.

When her lids finally parted once more, crusted with the remnants of last night’s pain, the sun was curling tendrils of warmth around her small frame, but she still felt cold, and empty, and lonesome. She hardly moved. She didn’t eat. She didn’t have the strength to fight. At some point during the day, a soft rain began to drift from scattered clouds. The cold liquid soaked through her robes, plastering wet cloth to skin. The rest of her energy was spent shivering, as her mind left her body to fend for itself. She knew she was vulnerable. She knew that anyone or anything could stumble upon her, and slay her where she wept, but she didn’t care. She no longer had a reason to. Shadows curled across her vision once more, and once again she did not dream. Her night was interrupted by hushed voices and frantic footsteps. Her eyes opened, and unknowingly, she held her breath. Her face ached where scabs had attempted and failed to form, skin itching where dried blood plastered flesh. She spent the next few moments trying to make out the source of the noises, quickly realizing that whoever was approaching through the tunnel was drawing swiftly near. The elf decided she didn’t particularly care, and when she let out the breath that had begun to burn within her lungs, a moan escaped her lips. 

The footsteps hastened, and she waited for the weapon to come down upon her head, waited for the sneer that would surely twist her enemy’s faces, or the snarling maw of a hungry beast. Instead, she felt a gentle hand fall upon her shoulder, slowly twisting her onto her back. She had not realized how rigid her muscles had grown until the burn began to set in with the movement. A large hat shadowed her features, offering relief from the drizzling rain, an intense and piercing blue gaze scanning her lacerated face, blond hair hanging low enough to smell. It was an earthen scent, stale and somewhat dusty, like dry forest air within an abandoned shack. After a moment, she recognized the young man, or rather, spirit. Cole. He looked distressed, his finger reaching toward her face to brush against her stinging carvings. She hissed toward the gesture, and he withdrew within an instant. 

Two other heads popped into view, one on the side opposite of Cole and the other lingering over Compassion’s shoulder. A tired attempt at a grin spread her cheeks as she noted them as Dorian and The Iron Bull. Each of their eyes reflected some amount of terror and sadness. She wondered how they had found her so quickly. She had left with Solas, so his return without her at his side would have certainly been cause for concern. Perhaps he had told them where to look. They no doubt would have been hounding him about it. She imagined Cassandra, pinning the rift mage to the wall and interrogating him like some prisoner. It seemed like something she’d do. 

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The tevinter mage finally managed to breathe. It was obvious that he was trying to lift the mood, but his voice cracked, and the effort failed. He had dropped to kneel beside her and the spirit, at a loss for words. The Iron Bull simply grunted with something that might have been disbelief, or rage. It was too dark to make out his expression. The elf figured that she must have looked absolutely horrible, covered in mud, and blood, face streaked with tears, soaked to the bone as the rain had persisted throughout the evening. 

Pain shot through her body as Cole slipped a hand beneath her back and pushed her into a sitting position, before tucking an arm beneath her knees and lifting her from the moist earth. She groaned with protest, but he silenced her with gentle hush. For a moment, she entertained her curiosity of how strong spirits actually were. She knew well enough that her slender frame would be easily lifted by most of her companions, asides from Sera, perhaps, but she had never bothered to consider how powerful Cole might have actually been. She had seen him draw his blades straight through flesh, muscle, and bone without a second’s hesitation, tearing severed limbs from his attackers with what she regarded as ease, something no human would have considered possible. They were not usually even afforded the chance to scream with pain, for the rogue moved with such speed; she never noticed the knives plunge into a killing stroke until Cole’s opponents had already fallen limp to the ground. 

A few minutes later, and she found herself pressed between Compassion and Dorian, who was attempting to take the burden of her quivering form from the rogue, who relinquished her with a solemn expression. Did he think the same way that the others did? Did he feel pain, or regret the same way that the others did, or was it different for spirits? 

“Dark, cold, hopeless, she looks into the water and she thinks it’s because of her.” The voice of Cole seemed to pull from her very memories, and for a moment, she thinks she can feel a strange tugging at her thoughts. “The face she sees is not her own. He took that away and she wanted it back. It wasn’t right. It was different, and somehow the same, possessing features she did not know. She had to put them back.” Having realized her eyes had closed, the elf focused on opening them again, noticing that Cole was tracing the bloodied lines of her handiwork with dark pupils. 

“Did Solas do this to you?” Dorian seemed almost eager to jump to such a conclusion, he was staring at her with expectant eyes, but she didn’t have the strength to form words in return. She merely glared, focusing upon the human’s pronounced chin. He seemed to take that as confirmation. The Iron Bull huffed and shifted nearby. She was somewhat unnerved by the Qunari’s silence. It was unusual. The elf wasn’t entirely certain as to what happened next. She was sure that they had begun moving again, with her wrapped in Dorian’s arms, but sleep overtook her swiftly. She hadn’t realized how numb she had become until the last moment of lingering consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the fic that stole me away from that modern OC one, but I'll get back to that one soon enough.

She woke to the smell of elfroot, curled within a thick, bear furred bedroll. The leather of her tent blocked the sun’s rays, but she could tell it was day as light seeped from the crack of her shelter’s opening. She lifted a hand from the confines of her blankets, pressing a finger to the sticky substance that was irritating the skin on her face. It was strange, because she was certain that the only companion she had that was a healer was Solas, and he was certainly not with them. _Solas._ She had pulled herself free from sleep only to thrust herself back into the torment of the past few days. Why did he always have to be one of the first things to greet her consciousness upon awakening?

A hand fell to her shoulder, and she sucked in a startled breath before Cole came into view, leaning over her. She hadn’t noticed him in the tent with her, but she hadn’t been facing him when her eyes had first opened.

“It’s alright.” He soothed, watching her for a moment as she seemed to relax. The elf contemplated getting up and leaving the tent, but shook the idea away. She didn’t feel like doing much more than going back to sleep, and hopefully never waking up again. She closed her eyes once more, allowing herself to drift away from the pain that consumed her mind. She hardly noticed when the spirit crawled from the tent. He was silent as a ghost. She began to hear voices outside, and attempted to shut them out before Dorian poked his head through the flaps of her tent, and crawled inside with what appeared to be a cup.

“Rise and shine, my elven princess, I think you’ve slept enough.” His grin seemed to brighten the very air around them as he finally reached her side, sliding his arm behind her back to shift her into an upright position. She glared with irritation, but he merely continued to smile, pressing the edge of the cup to her lips with an encouraging gesture. “It’s just water.” He promised, but she wasn’t in the mood for drinking. Dorian was persistent, though, and she knew he wouldn’t leave her alone until she drank every last drop of whatever he had in the cup. She reached up with her own hand and he pulled away when she made it clear that she could support herself, taking a sip of the cool fluid. It was, in fact, just water, and she had no idea just how thirsty she had been until that first drink. The rest of the water was gone within moments when she swallowed the liquid down with a desperation that nearly made her choke. Suddenly, she realized that she was starving, too.

Dorian seemed to have been expecting the reaction. He snatched the cup away and sought to remove himself from the tent. The elf drew away her blankets to follow.

“Better hurry before Bull eats all your breakfast.” He warned teasingly before slipping free of the shelter. She was close behind. It was bright outside, too bright. The sun was absolutely dazzling, striking the ivory landscape in ethereal rays of gold. It took her a moment to realize that the glittering blanket covering the ground was snow. The chill in the air became increasingly apparent, despite her dried robe.

“How ya feelin’, boss?” She noticed the hulking form of Bull standing near a crackling fire in the center of camp, shoveling spoon-fulls of what appeared to be some kind of stew into a clay bowl from the pot that had been positioned over the flame. He offered the food to her with an extension of his muscular arm, and she stepped forward the receive it, taking in the meaty smell before she began to eat with obvious satisfaction. She didn’t bother to reply and she hung her head low, focusing only on what was obviously ram and an assortment of vegetables disappearing from the bowl she held close to her chest. Luckily, The Iron Bull didn’t seem interested in pressing her for responses.

When she had finally finished, after indulging in a second helping, she glanced around and realized that the tent she had been resting in was no longer there. A moment of confusion clouded her head before she realized that Dorian and Cole were packing everything up and loading the horses. She hadn’t noticed the horses. There were four in total, a spirited black mare, a gentle chestnut, an impatient bay, and a quiet dappled grey, which seemed to be acting as their beast of burden for most of their materials. It was obvious that he would not have a rider. She knew well enough that The Iron Bull preferred to walk when necessary. He was usually too large for most horses.

Dorian approached when he noticed her observing him, cracking another gentle grin.

“I know I’m not a healer, but I think I did a fairly good job with those wounds, if I must say so myself.” He gestured toward her face with a friendly chuckle, but she did not return his light heartedness. No, he was by no means a healer, but the herbs had taken the edge off her pain and slowed the bleeding, so it would have to do. She turned to examine the surroundings once more, knowing full well that they were headed back to Skyhold, and that was the last place she wanted to be in that moment, despite all the support that her companions would surely show her. She almost felt like fleeing back down the mountain to Crestwood, so she could return to the clearing, curl up, and die there. It seemed like the best chance she had of closure.

Cole seemed to sense her unease, because he had come to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, before taking her by the arm and leading her to the horses. He must have read her earlier contemplations too, because he swung the reins of the chestnut she had mounted over the horse’s head, and, mounting the black mare, seemed content to steer both his horse and hers. The elven mage didn’t feel like protesting. She stared at the uneven horizon, where a deep blue mingled with sparkling ivory. Dorian climbed into the saddle of the bay while Iron Bull took the reins of the grey into his massive hand to lead the horse forward. Without another word, they were off. The others seemed eager to get home, but she dreaded the idea. Skyhold held too many memories.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some more.

They travelled in relative silence for most of the trip, and the air around them was tense and uneasy. She knew well enough that every bit of the darkness dripping into the atmosphere around them was from her own tormented mind. Dorian and Bull cast their occasional glances of worry toward her, but were hesitant to speak, while Cole simply remained distant, as if his thoughts were absent from the rest of his body.  Roughly four hours had passed before the stone walls of Skyhold finally came into view. The sun was still high, and the day had remained pleasantly clear. Normally, she would have taken the time to enjoy such fine weather, but now, it didn’t seem any different than the frigid darkness of a blizzard.

They passed through her army’s vast camp situated within the shadow of the castle, and absentmindedly, she was aware of the stares that her ruined state prompted. The elfroot poultice had begun to peel off her face, revealing red and angry carvings to any that dared to look. The group hurried up the path with the castle gate opening before them, and they crossed the bridge with a purpose that the elf did not understand, nor care for. She noted that a small crowd had drawn within the courtyard, and when she entered, her eyes scanned the handful of assembled people as the group dismounted, allowing the stable hands to lead their tired mounts away.

Blackwall averted his gaze as soon as she looked at him, clearly not wanting to seem rude. There were a few whispers that quickly spread through the small crowd. Cullen was wearing a pained expression alongside Cassandra, who attempted not to look too closely at the Inquisitor’s face. No one there seemed bold enough to stare for long. Most were curious as to where she had been, but nobody bothered to ask. The dwarf she recognized as Varric met them on the steps leading up toward the main hall.

“We were worried about you.” He stated in a gentle tone, falling in step beside her, where Cole had been earlier. The spirit seemed to have disappeared, and she had only just noticed. It surprised her that she wasn’t used to that by now. Iron Bull had fallen back as well, probably headed for the tavern. “When Chuckles returned alone, Cole nearly leapt out of his pants. The next thing we knew, he was on a horse and rushing out of the gates. Luckily, Bull got a hold of him before he could run off on his own.” The stocky archer explained with a hint of a smile. She lowered her head. Cole must have sensed her distress, or Solas’s. She felt the dwarf’s hand brush against her own, and glanced down toward him to find a serious expression stretching across his face. “Did Solas do that to you?” He questioned in a quiet voice as they entered the hall. She shook her head, but Dorian hissed beside her, leaning toward Varric with a scowl.

“I’ll explain what happened later; take her up to her room.” The tevinter spoke toward the rogue, who nodded in turn. She wondered briefly if Cole had explained what exactly had gone on between her and Solas, before coming to the conclusion that he probably had, if not in the form of some riddle. As they passed the room where Solas spent most of his time painting, she was caught off guard to find him standing in the doorway, an expression of what could only be described at horror crawling across his face. She said nothing as she passed, her mind was blank and numb. Varric had swung open the door to her quarters when she heard Dorian’s snarl behind her, and she knew well enough that the human was confronting her lover. She made out the words ‘pathetic bastard’ before the dwarf shoved her into the stairwell and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Well then.” He breathed, taking her by the hand to lead her up the stairs to her room. She faltered a moment to consider why her composure had become so…zombie like, before the realization fell to the back of her mind, and the next thing she knew, she was wrapped within the warmth of her sheets, eyes falling shut with a sigh of relief. She heard the doors to her balcony click shut, and the snapping and popping of a fire that Varric had set within her fireplace. A comforting heat filled the room, and for the first time since leaving Crestwood, she broke down and sobbed.

It was only when a gentle hand pressed against her side that she realized her dwarven companion had never left the room.  She hoped Dorian hadn’t hurt Solas. It wasn’t his fault. She must have done something wrong, and she wanted nothing more than to discover what her mistake might have been, if not her decision to remove the Vallaslin.

From that moment on, she dozed, not particularly tired physically so much as her mental state had sapped her of all her energy. There was plenty of movement throughout her quarters, though she never bothered to open her eyes and investigate. She became aware of the hands that grasped and probed at her face, and attributed the fresh scent of herbs to a healer. She heard something heavy scrape against stone floors as it was dragged from her closet and promptly filled with water. She knew they were drawing a bath, but wondered if they were aware of her lack of will to bother getting into one.

When hands moved toward her back to push her into a sitting position, peeling back the sheets, she opened her eyes to gaze at the face of Dorian. At some point, he had given up on his attack against Solas and returned to her side, and she had not even noticed. She examined his features for some kind of injury, but found none, and so gratefully assumed that things had not turned physical. The last thing the Inquisition needed were two powerful mages throwing fireballs at each other in the middle of the castle. She didn’t mind when he helped her undress, she knew well enough that his preference was not women, despite his playful flirting during their travels, and frankly, she didn’t have the strength to care. When she finally found her way into the water, a groan of relief swept past her lips.

The steam danced and curled around her body, rolling off the surface of the water to drift across her vision. She became aware of the fire rune beneath the tub that glowed with pleasurable heat. The water burned at the scrapes and bruises that stretched across her body, as if she were shedding all the trouble of the past few days from her skin. The elf held her breath and leaned over to press her head into the water, instantly regretting the action with a sharp stinging shooting through the wounds, like hundreds of fire ants unleashing a furious attack across her face. At least the bleeding seemed to have stopped, though she could feel the stiffness of newly formed scabs stretching across torn flesh. She wasn’t certain as to how long she spent in the tub. Dorian lingered nearby, polite enough to keep his eyes away from her body, though his disinterest was obvious enough. He was trying to amuse her with small talk, but she had ignored him. Eventually, when the skin on her finger tips began to shrivel and ache, he had moved to help her clear of the water, assisting her in dressing into some warm, and rather simple clothing consisting of a pale wool shirt and tan pants.

She found her way to the bed again and slipped beneath the blankets, wondering what the rest of her companions were up too. The thought brought a panicked stress to her mind and she nearly shot out of bed before managing to calm herself. They were probably fine, and perfectly capable of handling most situations without her command. They were her on field advisors, and she often felt comfortable letting them make decisions on her behalf. Whenever she was plagued by doubt, they were there to offer the support she needed, and while not all of them agreed with one another, they seemed content to at least _try_ to get along, and she was grateful for that.

Some decisions were just too difficult to make on her own. When the Templars had kneeled before her, questioning their fate and placing their futures within her hands, Solas and Cassandra had been there to remind her of the extent of the order’s corruption, and Sera had promptly agreed to their disbanding. Solas had insured that his support was the loudest, and while Cassandra had still held onto the slightest of hopes that the order might have been restored, she didn’t bother berating the elf with protest. When Cole sought vengeance against a man that had contributed toward the death of the _real_ Cole, Varric and Solas had been there to offer their advice, and though they did not agree, Varric had not shown anger toward her for allowing Solas to heal the boy’s mental wounds and restore what he had been meant to be.  The dwarf seemed to understand the trauma she had experienced after watching Wisdom twist against her nature, and he knew she didn’t want to watch the same transformation corrupt Compassion.

A moment of realization hit her like a rock, then. She hadn’t banished the Grey Wardens. She had been so used to her companions accepting her decisions that the rage Solas had displayed toward her decision had caught her by surprise. He had never been afraid to hide his protests, but then, he had never seemed so angry before, either. She recalled the moment he had snapped at her, and she had given up on trying to defend herself because the disapproval that shone within his eyes had been so heart wrenching. She hadn’t left her quarters for an entire day after that, until he eventually forced his way into her room to inform her that he was no longer angry, and while he had held her to him while she had trembled with regret, the older elf had never bothered to utter an apology for his harsh words. How could she have expected him to?

She wondered if he had ever truly gotten over the event, and toyed with the idea that her decision at Adament might have been the driving force of their breakup. If so, how could she hope to fix that? She couldn’t just go back on her word and decide to banish the Wardens simply because Solas disapproved of them. The only reason she had even allowed them to stay in the first place was in the case of another blight. She wasn’t particularly fond of them, either, but should another Archdemon ever decide to rise from the deeproads, the wardens would be their only hope.

The elf was drawn from her thoughts by a commotion at her bedroom door, and she sighed with irritation as she turned her head to listen. Dorian was arguing with someone, and he didn’t seem particularly happy about it at all.

“The healers can only do so much with their medicine.” A voice insisted, harsh and unyielding, but there was a note of pleading within the words. She recognized it immediately and silently willed Dorian to send the rift mage away. She didn’t want to see him again. It would only freshen the wounds. For a moment, she zoned out, their arguing becoming nothing more than background noise as a numb sensation spread throughout her mind once more. She became aware of her tevinter friend climbing the stairs, a mug clasped within his hands.

“You should drink this.” He handed it over toward her, and she sat up to take the cup within her own hands. She knew well enough that whatever it was, it was from Solas, and the thought of whatever might be in it was somewhat concerning for a moment, but not nearly as much as the realization that her trust with the other elf had suffered so immensely all of the sudden. Normally, she had would have never bothered to question such things, if she were in pain and he had offered her something for it, she would have never hesitated to swallow it down. She took a moment to quiet her foolishness. Whatever liquid was in the mug, she was certain it would be safe to drink.

Her first sip punished her with a foul and bitter taste, but it was nothing unusual to what a healer might normally require her to swallow down, although the fluid in the cup was sweetened with honey that helped cut out the sharpness of its disgusting sense against her tongue. She closed her eyes, and brought the rim of the cup to her lips once more before forcing herself to gulp it down, holding it back as her stomach threatened to send it right back up. It had only taken a few moments to swallow it all down, but by the time she had finished and Dorian had taken the mug from her, a distinct drowsiness began to creep across the edges of her gaze. Dorian took up position at the end of her bed and observed without a word, before she noticed a familiar face pop up over the stairs nearby, peering at her with a look that was mixed with caution and sadness.

Dazed, she slowly came to the conclusion of the drugs she had just been given as Solas approached her bedside. If she could have formed the thought, she would have cursed herself. She didn’t have the strength to protest, or to lift her head. She didn’t even have the strength to hold open her eyelids, which were growing rapidly heavy. The last thing she remembered was the sensation of his fingers sliding across her face before she fell into a dark oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

She had no idea how long she had slept, but when she awoke, it was with a piercing headache that drew a moan from her slender form. The sun cast glowing rays through the windows of her room, and a fresh fire had been stirred in order to fill the air with the scent of burning pine. She rolled free of the bed, feeling strangely pleasant as she moved toward the fireplace to stretch with a satisfied yawn. For the first time in nearly a week, she realized that every bit of the discomfort she had grown used to upon her face was missing. There was no itching, no pain, no tugging of scabs as she shifted her expression to test the new freedom of her skin. She raised a finger to brush it across surprisingly smooth flesh.

As realization dawned upon her, so did a new pain in her chest. She rushed to her desk to pluck a small mirror from the wood, gazing at the reflection with wide eyes. Everything was gone. She stood as barefaced as she had been in Crestwood. There weren’t even scars to show for her handiwork. She sank into the chair and sobbed. It seemed there was no escaping the decision she had made. Whoever she had been in the past was gone.

She nearly leapt out of her skin when a hand brushed over hers, gently drawing the mirror away from her fingers. Turning her head, she discovered the muscular frame of Cole hovering over her quivering body, just inches away. When he secured the mirror from her, he placed it face down upon the desk with clear intent.

“You don’t need to do that.” He assured in a neutral tone. “You look different, but you aren’t. You don’t have to be. You’re you, and you’ll always be you.” His hand had returned to his side, and he glanced at it momentarily, as if to assure himself that the limb still existed. She was glad for the spirit’s company and words. She had heard enough of the ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ phrases in her time to know what was meant by it. She stared down at her hand, resisting the urge to pick up the mirror again.

“It’s not your fault.” He spoke once more, barely budging an inch as a stoic expression masked his features, though there was a sorrow within his intense gaze. “You think it is, but it isn’t. He is hurt by a pain that is older than you.” She realized, then, that she had completely forgotten that Solas was Elvhen. Who knew how old he might have been asides from Solas himself? Her eyes dimmed as she began to focus on the idea that he might have had another heart, before her time, probably before she had even existed. She could only imagine that something horrible must have happened between them, that he seemed so desperate to push her away. Had his old love betrayed him somehow? Perhaps something she had done had contributed to his memory of what he had lost once more, perhaps her face without the Vallaslin had reminded him, somehow.

She rose from her chair at the desk, and Cole shifted to the side to allow her the room to do so. For a moment she hesitated, before steeling her nerves and walking toward the stairs that led down to the great hall. She sensed the presence of Cole in step behind her, and found security with her rogue companion. When she entered the great hall, she found that it was surprisingly empty. Nobles often lined the walls, but only a few lingered within the confines of the castle, murmuring softly as they glanced up to notice her entry. She strode past in silence, content to avoid their eyes. Instinctively, she looked toward the circular study she used to find so much peace within, but the door was drawn closed. Perhaps it was better that way.

When she exited the hall to creep out into the morning air, she nearly bumped into Iron Bull, who was climbing up the steps with his gaze set upon her.

“Eh Boss, I was just about to come grab you. Looks like you need a drink.” She nodded in confirmation. A drink had certainly been one of her motivations for leaving her room. She followed the warrior as he turned to lead her down toward the tavern. “The others are here, too. We were just about to start a game of Wicked Grace.” He explained, but it was obvious that he had planned on her joining them from the very start. Lavellan figured that by the time she was scraping the bottom of a tankard that she’d be drunk enough to find some amount of enjoyment in the game.

When they entered the tavern, her senses were assaulted by the usual noise of chatter and foul scent of alcohol. She rarely enjoyed such places, but she was willing to make an exception for the sake of getting drunk. The Iron Bull led her to the table where the others happily cheered her approach. Everyone was there, asides from Leliana, Blackwall, and Solas. She could only imagine what those three were up to. She sat down between Cole and Sera, who reached over to slide a tankard of ale across the table for Lavellan with a pleasant giggle, but Dorian batted it away before she could reach for the drink.

“Absolutely not! The Inquisitor deserves something far better than mere ale!” The tevinter grinned broadly as he passed what appeared to be a glass of wine over to her. She accepted it with a small grin of her own and raised it to her lips, surprised by the strength in the fruity tasting liquid. “One of my personal favorites.” Dorian explained as he sipped from his own glass.

“That shit ain’t nothin’.” Iron Bull snorted as he took a seat. Dorian’s grin didn’t falter as he shrugged.

“Better than the piss you drink.” He responded, his voice lighthearted despite the jab. Those around the table chuckled in response.

“Now now, we’re here for some good ol’ fashioned Wicked Grace, not to argue over drinks.” Varric wore a toothy smile as he shuffled the deck of cards in his callused hands.

“They snap at each other, but inside they beam, wishing, dreaming, fingers on each other’s skin.” Sapphire eyes flickered between Dorian and The Iron Bull, golden bangs swaying across his vision with every small movement. The tevinter blushed slightly, as the Qunari merely smirked. The others at the table had their own reactions. Both Cullen and Cassandra shifted with discomfort, uncertain as to how to respond.

“Ewwwww!” Sera shuffled in her seat, her face scrunching up with mocking distaste, though she didn’t appear to be truly bothered by the words uttered by Cole. A second later, however, and the young elf’s eyes widened with what appeared to be a frightful realization. “Creepy’s watchin our wet dreams! He probably watches us have sex!” Sera practically squealed. Varric chuckled while Cullen appeared to suddenly choke on his alcohol. The Inquisitor wasn’t entirely certain as to who within her inner circle was sleeping with whom, though Dorian and Bull often made their growing affections known easily enough. She supposed that such relationships were beyond her business.

“Let us begin.” The voice of Josephine carried across the long wooden table as she cleared her throat and picked up the cards she had been dealt, glaring at them with a smug smile. Everyone was aware of her skill when it came to the game, and none were willing to underestimate her. It was possible that she had received bad cards and was merely grinning as a way to throw off her opponents, but no one was planning on taking such a chance as they thrust their coin purses out to bet what they were willing.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t long before the haze of drunkenness had begun to shift over her eyes. She had only been halfheartedly paying attention to the game that played out before her, mostly ignoring the discussions that her companions were having, but with her mind clouded, she began to feel her body lift with a welcome lightness. The afternoon passed quickly, and she was vaguely aware of herself throwing a steak she had ordered at Cullen’s face. His startled and confused expression had caused the entire table to explode with laughter, and even she had joined in with a maddening giggle, clutching at Sera’s shoulder to steady herself.

She must have dozed off, because most of her companions were gone when next she opened her eyes, replaced by Bull’s chargers. She found herself standing on wobbly legs, working her way toward the door. They didn’t try to stop her when she moved to exit the tavern, which was good, because she might have collapsed if they had. When she swung the wooden door open to spill out into the open air, the mage noticed the darkness that had creeped down upon the castle during her time spent drinking. Night had fallen, though it seemed relatively young. A sliver of light still lined the jagged horizon. She disregarded the time she had wasted, likely due to her inability to process it, and stumbled her way up the stairs. She wasn’t certain as to what had compelled her to turn left instead of continuing forward, but she soon found herself swaying on her feet within the confines of the Skyhold rotunda. Solas was approaching her with a wary expression.

“Inquisitor?” The title hurt, despite her state of, or lack of, mind. She was so used to him calling her his heart that the sudden professionalism that had leaked into his seemingly uncaring tone was like a knife slicing into her gut. The memories of Crestwood slammed into her at the sight of him, and she found herself sobbing, muttering incoherently to herself. “Inquisitor, you are drunk.” Somehow, his words had managed to slice right into her consciousness. He could probably smell the alcohol that rolled off her slender frame. Elves had an excellent sense of smell, and Solas’s was better than most others.

“Why did you do it? What did I do wrong? I need to know!” Perhaps it was her drunkenness that brought upon such brazen behavior, but she was snapping at him like a ravenous predator, demanding some form of explanation because she _deserved_ it. He had left in an instant, during something that could only have been described as an exceedingly romantic moment. The man hadn’t even explained himself, just walked away and abandoned her to the monsters that prowled the wilderness! She would have been happier if she had just died there.

“I understand your anger, I am furious with myself as well. But, for now, we must focus on what matters.” _What matters?_ He dared to use those words? What about the love they had had for one another, did that not matter? His response only served to paint her features red with anger, despite the soft voice he was using in some effort to soothe the suffering she was being forced to endure. “Harden your heart to a cutting edge, and put that pain to good use against Corypheus.” He almost sounded regretful as the words slipped past his lips. The name of the Elder One stuck out like a sore thumb, and she was numbly aware that he was the ancient magister that was trying to destroy their world in the form of some false god. In her grief, she had nearly forgotten the threat that loomed over the Inquisition. She cursed herself, wallowing in her sadness as she had been, as she would likely continue to do, it wouldn’t help anyone when it came to their quest against Corypheus.

“At least give me something! Help me understand why!” _Why you left me. Why you abandoned me. Why I wasn’t good enough for you. What kind of mistakes I made. Why it was so easy for you to walk away…_ She needed to know. She had to. After all the pain he had put her through, did he expect her to simply roll over and accept it without a second thought?

“The answers would only lead to more questions, an emotional entanglement that would benefit neither of us.” Solas sighed, his gaze falling to the floor. She was still aware of the tears that streamed down her cheeks, irritating moist skin. Her impatience continued to grow, her thoughts threatening to rip her apart and overflow. “The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough.” His reply fell upon deaf ears. It most certainly was not enough. What was he referring to, when he mentioned his selfishness and irresponsibility? Their entire relationship, or just that night in Crestwood? Was there hope between them, or did he intend to fade from existence for all eternity? Would she ever be able to find happiness in his absence? No. Not likely. She’d be alone and lost forever.

“What about later…what about after Corypheus? Will you talk to me then?” The voice that fell from her lips was no longer loud and demanding, but nearly silent, a hopeful whisper.

“If we are both still alive afterward, then I promise you, everything will be made clear.” She should have felt comforted by the words. Instead she felt anticipation. With a shudder, she stepped away, nearly falling backwards, but she managed to catch herself on the wall before rushing out of the study, her trembling limbs carrying her straight to her room. Somehow, she managed to make it up to her bed, passing out almost instantaneously.

When she awoke the next morning, she felt different. Her head was pounding with unmistakable pain, and she could not deny the sick feeling that enveloped her stomach with uncomfortable heat, but the grief that had plagued her since Crestwood had been transformed. She hardly remembered the day before, but the words of her former lover still rang within her head. _After Corypheus._ And there _would_ be an after Corypheus, because she would make certain of it. He would give her the answers she desired, just as he had promised, and perhaps then she could find some relief in knowing what had gone wrong between them. She deserved to know, and she wasn’t going to let Corypheus get in her way. When the time came to face her greatest enemy, she would thrust herself at him with all the spitting fury she could manage.

 _Harden your heart to a cutting edge._ Hopefully it wouldn’t shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the only part of the series that will take place before Trespasser. This is like, the prequel stuff to what comes next. Happy endings come later.


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